Going Right
by mrasaki
Summary: They don't f*** in the gym. He doesn't know if Sulu notices. -Kirk/Sulu-


**Title**: Going Right  
**Rated**: NC-17  
**Pairing**: Kirk/Sulu  
**Word Count**: 1750  
**Completed**: 2/18/11  
**A/N**: Wow, it's been a while since I wrote something new (nearly a year to the day...!)...and this isn't even a full fic. Call it a porn ficlet (aka PWP) - just to get back into the groove of things.

oOOo

"I can take you," he says, arms loose and eyes laughing, and Jim can only shake his head convulsively so that droplets of sweat fly off and hit the mat. That isn't the problem, of course Sulu can take him, the issue is how Jim can take _him_. It isn't as easy as one might think; Sulu is agile and quick as a snake and not at all adverse to some really underhanded maneuvers.

Jim matches the cocky smile though, never mind how he's breathing hard - hell, at least Sulu's panting too - and braces himself for another go. They're sparring, if that's what this can be called; probably a better term at the moment is 'Jim trying not to get his ass beat, preferably in a semi-dignified manner.'

Sulu watches him with heavy-lidded eyes, balanced on the balls of his feet, fingers quick and snapping, the sinews and veins in his lean arms jumping in time. "Nice tights," he taunts.

"Fuck you, I'm aerodynamic," Jim counters immediately. It's a pretty stupid thing to say, but it catches Sulu off-guard and surprises a laugh out of him, handsome face breaking into crinkled eyes and white teeth. Jim can go with that. But he can't take the moment to admire his handiwork because it gives him just enough of a distraction to launch himself across the textured mat at Sulu, hooking an ankle around in an attempt at a sweep.

Jim lands on his back with a bone-jarring thud, the breath leaving his body in a tearing gust. He can only gasp like a landed fish as Sulu twists Jim's leg and arm in a direction they were never designed to go, Sulu leaning his full weight right on the pressure point of Jim's other thigh, which makes it go tingly then numb.

"Fuck," Jim wheezes as soon as he can get a half strangled gasp back in his lungs.

"Too easy," Sulu informs him. He grins that crazy grin again, all dimples and crinkled black eyes, and drips sweat into Jim's face, his arm iron straight and implacably firm where his hand is planted solidly on the mat next to Jim's neck.

"Never had a problem before."

"Bar-room brawls don't count as fighting," Sulu counters, and punctuates his point by digging his sharp knee just a fraction harder into Jim's thigh.

Jim thinks about telling him that he'd been Assistant Intructor for hand-to-hand combat in Academy, but of course Sulu probably already knows. It's a piss-poor assertion anyway, with one leg numb and joints creaking dangerously, pinned down so tight he can't even squirm. But he doesn't want Sulu to get off him, not yet, because he's hard, the lust roiling slowly up through his frustration to simmer at the tips of his fingers and burn its way across his cheekbones.

Sulu notices, of course he does, when Jim stops fighting and lets his back muscles flatten out into the soft mat. He stares down as Jim looks back and pants open-mouthed up at him, but Sulu doesn't move, apparently undecided if this is some new kind of Jim-flavored fuckery.

Jim gasps laughter through the searing haze that's stealing his breath; Sulu's always so damn cautious, sharp intellect and energy layered hard over caution, and it drives him crazy half the time, just as he's sure Sulu thinks Jim's got all the impulse control of a three year old in a candy store.

Jim manages a protracted writhe within the contraint of the bind. A matching flush creeps up Sulu's face.

In Academy, sex in semi-public places was a risk that added zest to knees bumping against the walls of a bathroom stall, one foot up on the toilet, muffling their panting breaths against the meat of their biceps. But Jim is captain now and perhaps he hasn't learned caution, but he's learned the preservation of his rank and reputation and that of his companion's, so screw what Sulu thinks of Jim's impulse control.

They don't fuck in the gym. He doesn't know if Sulu notices.

Jim's on his elbows and knees, panting into the sterile gray carpet of his quarters as Sulu pushes his knees further apart with his own and licks up the small of Jim's back, tasting the sweat of their earlier exercise.

Sulu makes him come just like that, two fingers deep in his ass and one hand underneath, pulling Jim's orgasm out of him with a grip so tight it's almost painful.

He slumps. Sulu's still fully clothed, draping himself over Jim's slick back, pushing him flat with his own weight. Hot breath in his ear, a satisfied laugh. Jim doesn't quite have the leverage to swat him, but he tries. "Next time, man," he promises. "Take you down like a two dollar horse."

"Never happen, Kirk." Sulu doesn't sound worried at all, damn him, and Jim grumbles a little bit into the nap of the carpet itchy against his cheek. iDo you know how annoying that is?/i he almost asks, but stops himself; of course Sulu knows, which is why he does it. Sulu's not like this with anyone else but Jim, but this is how it's always been between them, all careful banter, push and pull, and once it was enough for Jim.

Jim shifts over onto his back.

"What?" Sulu murmurs, snugged securely between Jim's thighs. He's still hard, holding himself in tight control even as his thumbs stroke up the curves of Jim's cheekbones.

Jim just shakes his head at him, unable to articulate the thoughts pushing against the back of his throat like bile and Sulu seems to catch a little bit of his mood. He narrows his eyes, that mobile mouth pursing in a frown.

"Nothing," Jim says and adds a smile to it, pulling him down. Sulu kisses the way he pilots, just the barest hint of the wild enjoyment that cracks through his cool control. It's intense, exhilarating being the object of all that focus, and Jim will never admit it but he gets hard sometimes, staring hard at the back of Sulu's head on the bridge, watching those sensitive fingers dancing on the console, maneuvering Jim's lady with as much delicacy as a musical instrument, imagining the same fingers playing him with just as much precision.

He's on top now, Sulu's legs wrapped around him in an obscene approximation of a judo hold, pulling Jim in with every surge of his hips, his half-open, gasping mouth, the bruising press of his fingertips into Jim's arm. "Stop staring at me like that," he says, punctuating it with another hitch of his hips, spreading his thighs wider – Jim has to squeeze his eyes shut at the lust that spikes through his brain like a glass pick because _damn_ Sulu is flexible, and though he knows it somewhere, has it stored somewhere, it catches him off-guard every time – "and fuck me."

"_Sir,_" Jim can't help but remind him automatically from the few brain cells of his higher brain functions that've survived, this game that they play, even as all the blood goes to his cock and leaves him lightheaded can't stop himself from tasting the hollow of Sulu's throat, from pushing up his shirt and licking and chafing at the small nipple that hardens under his touch. He lingers there, lost in the gasps and huffs of breath and every writhe until finally Sulu's breathing, "Jim, _Captain,_" over and over like his vocabulary's been erased with every swipe of Jim's tongue, and it makes Jim crazy bold and it's not some sort of fucked up power play, it really isn't, except maybe their entire relationship is.

Sulu says in a queer, choked, uneven tone Jim's never heard before, "Oh my god, that – " as Jim pushes his hips higher, his thighs further apart, his fingers making white dimples as he pulls the globes of Sulu's ass apart and licks down, giving his balls one good lick before moving down and over the pucker. Sulu goes inarticulate.

He tastes salty and musky and it occurs to Jim that maybe a shower was in order before he had this brilliant idea, but ultimately he doesn't care as he digs the point of his tongue into Sulu, then his finger, with only saliva to slick the way. It catches, and Jim spares just a moment to feel a little guilty that he really doesn't care that Sulu's going to be a little tender tomorrow, because he _wants_ him to remember this. The thought makes him bite Sulu hard, right on the globe of his annoyingly perfect ass.

If Jim wasn't sure before, he's got Sulu's undivided attention now. "Okay, not that, ah—" he sucks in a breath as Jim crooks his finger, "—that doesn't feel really, mind-blowingly _heavenly_, but we're going to need some lube for—" his voice cracks as Jim licks alongside his finger, which hasn't stopped moving in and out, and Sulu makes this high keen like he's going out of his mind. Jim kind of loves it.

Jim more than kind of loves the next sentence out of Sulu's mouth: "Either you can fuck me into the next century, or I can come all over your face right now."

Jim closes his eyes and smiles just a little against wet skin. "Since you ask so nicely," keeping his voice light, and then he pushes back up and they're kissing again, Sulu twining his arms around Jim's neck, his touch gentler than before and Jim realizes Sulu's looking up at him, something undefinable in his eyes; knowledge perhaps. Understanding. It's such a strange sensation juxtaposed against the base carnality of the situation, something that at first consideration would never go together, like salt with sweet. Chocolate with bacon. Sulu would totally mock him if he told him.

He's got lube, thank god, it's on the floor underneath the bed from their last time where Sulu threw it and Jim never quite got around to putting it away. He fumbles a cold dollop onto his fingers and preps them, and before he knows it, he's flipped onto his back and Sulu's crouched over him.

"Let me," Sulu murmurs.

"How about no?" Jim growls, and things degenerate from there until Jim's sure he's going to have to pull rank. But Sulu's fighting like his heart's not in it and ultimately he just lets Jim push him back down

They don't speak after that, at least nothing verbal.


End file.
